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<\/strong>\u201cBy God, you will marry Lord Embroke!\u201d Poppy\u2019s father slammed his huge palm on the table holding the Christmas tree. Several of the embroidered ornaments fell from the branches.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy stifled the urge to flinch. Big Jim Lancaster was an intimidating man, both in stature and reputation. He towered over six feet and possessed massive shoulders that were molded from a youth spent hoisting barrels. His craggy, scarred face and fierce demeanor kept the hundred or so employees of his Newcastle factories in line.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut I don\u2019t know Lord Embroke, much less love him,\u201d Poppy protested, drawing herself up. She looked like the mirror image of her striking mother, silken red hair, creamy complexion, bow-like lips, and enormous icy blue eyes. Unfortunately, Poppy\u2019s similarity to her mother was skin deep. She lacked her mother\u2019s tranquil nature. Poppy\u2019s fiery temperament was more akin to her father\u2019s mercurial personality\u2014one moment in thundering rage and the next all loving and puppy-like.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou love mama,\u201d she said. \u201cYours is a happy marriage. Why would you not want the same for me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her father released a long breath, his chest drooping. \u201cCome here, love.\u201d Poppy edged forward. He squeezed her small hands between his roughened, large ones. \u201cI love your mama. But I watched her suffer all those years when I was building our fortune. She did without for too long. I want you and your sisters to be cared for as proper ladies. I don\u2019t want to see you suffer or want. I built this,\u201d he gestured about the parlor of their newly built mansion, \u201cfor my family.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLouise\u2014my friend from school\u2014is in London. She says Lord Embroke is a most taciturn, disagreeable man. \u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her father muttered under his breath, something about money wasted on an education. \u201cLouise is a silly fool.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy wasn\u2019t deterred. \u201cBut what if Lord Embroke is a wastrel as his brother was? What if he gambles and cohorts with improper ladies? How could he properly care for me, if he cares for no one but himself? You speak of this fortune\u2014but what if he squanders it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy daughters do not speak of such impolite matters under my roof!\u201d Father\u2019s ire rose again. \u201cI have had the man meticulously studied. I possess letters from Generals praising Embroke\u2019s wise leadership in the Crimea War, from his Cambridge dons attesting to the man\u2019s intelligence, and from his bank concerning the solvency of his personal finances before inheriting his title. What your silly friend Louise considers taciturn and disagreeable is a serious man facing the serious consequences of his late brother\u2019s libertine lifestyle. You see, Poppy, all decisions have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cConsequences,\u201d Poppy finished. She began to replace the ornaments that had fallen from the tree, while continuing the lecture she had been given since she was bounced on her papa\u2019s knee. \u201cOur decisions mold our futures. People starve in the streets for the foolish decisions they make.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPrecisely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She kept her eyes averted from her father and continued adorning the tree. \u201cBut I don\u2019t see how agreeing to marry a man whom I\u2019ve never seen is foolish. You, yourself, say that you always judge a man by the look in his eyes. Yet, we\u2019ve judged Lord Embroke without seeing hide nor hair of him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBy God!\u201d Her father ripped the bluebird ornament that she had sewn when she was twelve from her hand. \u201cI will not be mocked in my own home!\u201d He grabbed her wrist, his face contorted with black anger. \u201cNow you listen, young lady. I don\u2019t want to hear any more of this talk from you. You just look beautiful and keep your mouth shut when Lord Embroke arrives tomorrow. I will not have you embarrass me in front of an influential peer. Do you understand?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy trembled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you understand?\u201d he barked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, sir,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He released her, and Poppy ran to the parlor door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWait,\u201d her father said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She turned. He rubbed his perspiring forehead with his fingers. \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I do this because I love you. Because I want to see you well settled in life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy\u2019s eyes blurred with tears. The parlor was festooned with Christmas decorations. Garlands and holly adorned the chimneypiece. Ornaments she and her sister had made through the years hung on the tree. Christmases had always been a happy time for her. She caroled in the streets, laughed at family stories over spicy wassail, and drifted to sleep after Christmas dinner by the slow burning Yule log.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Yet, she felt no merriment in her heart this year. Only dread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t say a word as she slipped from the room. The hall smelled of baking cakes and cinnamon. A garland wound halfway down the grand staircase bannister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her mother, wearing a wool cloak and bonnet, hurried down the treads. She stopped when she saw the tears rolling down her daughter\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh love,\u201d she whispered, hugging her eldest daughter. \u201cDid you talk to Papa?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes,\u201d Poppy choked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mrs. Lancaster sighed. \u201cOh dear, please understand that your father loves you very much. He only wants what\u2019s best for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCan I not determine my own life?\u201d Poppy cried. \u201cCan I not determine what\u2019s best for me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her mama took Poppy\u2019s hand and drew her into the corner, away from the servant\u2019s inquisitive ears. \u201cMy dear, if you truly feel that upon meeting Lord Embroke you couldn\u2019t possibly share a happy life with him, I will think of some way to speak to your father.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can fight my own battles!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI can fight them better,\u201d she said, quietly and firmly. \u201cNow, I simply ask that you give Lord Embroke a chance. You shouldn\u2019t judge someone until you\u2019ve met him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVery well,\u201d Poppy conceded. Her father\u2019s advice, aside from taking decisions seriously, also included knowing when to stop bargaining. She would pretend to give Lord Embroke a chance for her mother\u2019s sake. But Poppy knew she couldn\u2019t respect a man who agreed to marry her only for money without even seeing or speaking to her. And she couldn\u2019t love a man that she couldn\u2019t respect. This was going to be a disastrous, miserable Christmas.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNow, you rest,\u201d her mother said. \u201cI need to run to the shop for more green thread. I haven\u2019t enough to bind together the garland for the stairs, and all the servants are busy in the kitchens.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLet me go, please,\u201d Poppy begged. \u201cI need to walk and take in the fresh air to clear my mind. I won\u2019t be but half an hour.\u201d Poppy had to get away from this house brimming with good cheer and smelling like a bakery before she screamed. \u201cPlease, Mama.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cVery well,\u201d her mother said after a long pause. \u201cBut when you come back, we must have a concoction made to heal that unsightly blemish on your chin. You will want to look your best for Lord Embroke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy touched her so-called unsightly blemish. Heaven forbid a piddly pimple should turn off Lord Embroke. If that were the case, may she wake up with dozens speckling her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy dashed to her room, opened her commode drawer and drew out a bag of small candies wrapped in paper. She scooped out a handful and dumped them into her basket that was filled with her knitting and sewing for factory children. Then she donned her cloak, gloves, and bonnet, and set out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The pounding noise of the factories\u2014including her father\u2019s\u2014echoed in the streets. Streams of soot pouring from numerous huge brick towers tinted the sky a dull gray. Still, being outside in the cold and dreariness was better than being trapped inside with the tyrannical merriment of her home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She veered off the street where their mansion rose from a small hill overlooking the city, and ventured through the poorer neighborhoods of the factory workers. \u201cMerry Christmas, Miss Poppy! Merry Christmas, Miss Poppy!\u201d the children called and ran up to her. \u201cDo you have any candy for us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Their excited faces raised her spirits.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, I don\u2019t know,\u201d she teased. \u201cI don\u2019t recall having any candy. Hmm, let me check my basket.\u201d She made a show off of rooting about. \u201cWhy, look what I found!\u201d she said, pulling out some candies. \u201cHow did that get there?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The children\u2019s smiles chased Lord Embroke temporarily from her mind. She stopped at several homes to deliver socks, mittens, or scarves she had knitted. The mothers\u2019 gratitude warmed her sad heart. She visited for a few minutes with the families, catching up on the latest news while cuddling a few adorable babies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She wished she didn\u2019t have to go back home, but she had almost expended her half hour and she still hadn\u2019t purchased the thread. She forced herself to put a darling infant back in his cradle and head to the shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The two main aisles running down the center of the Phillips General Store were clogged with people shopping for Christmas gifts. Poppy edged slowly through the thick, milling crowd, trying to reach the shelf of thread, when she glanced down and spied a stack of Charles Dicken\u2019s Household Words<\/i> journals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A new issue!<\/p>\n\n\n\n She opened the top copy and flipped the pages until she came to an article titled \u201cAn Adventuresome Lady\u2019s Tour of the Wild Americas<\/i>\u201c and began to read. The author extolled how the untamed landscape of the Americas had liberated her spirit, making her feel as wild and free as the terrain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Maybe I should run away to the Americas,<\/i> Poppy quipped to herself, if that is where freedom awaits, for my spirit certainly feels bound at the moment.<\/i><\/p>\n\n\n\n She continued to read about awe-inspiring vistas, losing track of time and place, until she heard a man clear his voice throat in a hard, annoyed manner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She lifted her head to behold the most disagreeable-looking man she had ever seen. Strands of black hair fell onto thick hawkish eyebrows. He glared at her with dark, shiny eyes\u2014like onyx. His haughty expression only heightened his general unpleasantness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you mind?\u201d he snarled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, am I in your way?\u201d she asked with malicious sweetness. \u201cI\u2019m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you in any way, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The horrid man either didn\u2019t perceive the intended message of his rude impertinence or he merely didn\u2019t care. \u201cI\u2019ve waited here for three minutes, politely saying \u2018pardon me\u2019, \u2018pardon me\u2019 so that I might reach across you and procure the latest issue of Household Words<\/i>. Are you always this oblivious?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her mouth dropped open with shock. Then she closed it again, her eyes narrowing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy goodness! Imagine three long, almost interminable, minutes. How you have suffered! You should receive a medal!\u201d She didn\u2019t want to admit it, but she felt a perverse sense of pleasure in venting her anger on the rude gentleman.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYour acerbity isn\u2019t becoming,\u201d he remarked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n That was too much!<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWhy should I care if I\u2019m becoming to you? I don\u2019t even know you. Heaven forbid if I\u2019m not becoming to a rude stranger. Heaven forbid if I might have one little blemish on my face.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI merely want a copy of Household Words.<\/i> Spare me the tongue lashing if you please.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She tossed the edition that she was reading at him. \u201cThere! Your journal. Good day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI believe you mean \u2018bad day\u2019?\u201d he suggested, putting the journal under his arm. What an insolent man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She feigned a polite smile. \u201cYes, may you have bad day.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He executed a small bow in the tight space. \u201cAnd a bad day to you, as well.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI hope you enjoy a miserable Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI shall, most assuredly, and wish you the same and an atrocious New Year.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOh, it will be,\u201d she cried. \u201cHave no doubt on that count.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n For a moment, they glared at each other. Then she noticed his lips were quivering, which caused hers to do the same.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI better get on with my miserable Christmas,\u201d she choked and edged away before she broke into laughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She weaved through the busy shoppers to the shelf of thread. Her entire body was quaking. What came over her? She had been practically yelling at a stranger. She glanced over her shoulder to find him still looking at her, an amused expression lighting his face, which wasn\u2019t as disagreeable upon further inspection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught looking, and she returned her focus to the thread bobbins. Her fingers were shaking when she picked out the green one. All she could think was that he was watching her with those intense eyes. They bore through her clothes, heating her skin more than a dozen roaring Yule logs could do. Yet when she ventured another peek, she found he was gone. A cold, deflating feeling settled into her chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ah, it was just as well. She shouldn\u2019t consider other men when she had been designated to Lord Embroke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n For now.<\/i><\/p>\n\n\n\n She started for the line by the front counter. The clock on the wall indicated that she was already twenty minutes late returning home. She began nervously picking at her pimple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She heard a child scream, and a man shouting, \u201cYou little brat! Don\u2019t think of running away from me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy pushed to the shop\u2019s front window to determine the cause of the ruckus. Beyond the panes, she could see five-year-old Henry Lewis dangling upside down by his ankle that was gripped in the beefy hand of Mr. Phillips, the shop owner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m going to whip you until your backside is one red blister!\u201d Mr. Phillips barked. \u201cYou don\u2019t steal from my shop.\u201d He smacked the boy\u2019s rear. Henry wailed, tears dripping from his red face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo!\u201d Poppy shouted and rushed out the shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease, sir, I swear I didn\u2019t steal nothing!\u201d Henry cried. \u201cI swear it. The fine gentleman said he would pay. It\u2019s for my sister. Please!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMr. Phillips! You let him go.\u201d Poppy dropped her thread and basket and yanked the boy from the merchant\u2019s clutches. She set him on the ground and knelt, putting her on eye level with the child. \u201cHenry, dear, tell me what has happened.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe fine gent said he would buy the doll for my sister,\u201d Henry sobbed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou little liar.\u201d Mr. Phillips raised his hand, threatening another blow to the frightened child.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHenry is an honest boy, sir.\u201d Poppy rose. \u201cYou are mistaken. And his sister is sick with consumption. Don\u2019t you dare lay a hand on him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNow I know you have soft heart, miss,\u201d the shop owner said. \u201cBut you can\u2019t reward lying. And that boy\u2019s a liar if I\u2019ve ever laid eyes on one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs he now?\u201d a man said in a deep, quiet voice that rumbled like thunder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Poppy whirled around to see the disagreeable man strolling from the store with the copy of Household Words<\/i> still under his arm. His face appeared even more severe in the sunlight. His pale skin was a bold contrast to his black hair and blazing eyes. What she didn\u2019t appreciate in the crowded the shop was the fine tailoring of his coat and trousers, which fit snugly on his broad shoulders and lean legs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTell \u2018em, kind sir,\u201d Henry implored. \u201cTell \u2018em you said you would buy the doll for my sister after I told you she was sick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThe boy speaks the truth. I was approaching the counter to pay when you bolted away,\u201d he told Mr. Phillips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The shopkeeper\u2019s face reddened. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir. I didn\u2019t\u2026. I see\u2026 Well, that boy has stolen from me before.\u201d He pointed his blunt finger at Henry, who scurried behind Poppy\u2019s skirt for protection. \u201cHe\u2019s a swindler, I tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe is not!\u201d Poppy said. \u201cHe helps his mother since his father died and tends to his sick sister. He\u2019s a fine boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNow, Miss,\u201d Mr. Phillips began, \u201clike I said. I know you have a soft heart, but that boy\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t contradict the lady,\u201d the disagreeable man said in that quiet yet thunderous manner of his. He reached into his pocket and dug out some coins. He dropped them onto the street. \u201cFor this journal, the doll, and the green thread the kind lady desired.\u201d With that he turned on his heel and strolled away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mr. Phillips, red-faced with embarrassment, gazed at everyone. Then he channeled his humiliation back into anger. \u201cYou!\u201d He pointed to Henry. \u201cI don\u2019t want to see you in the shop again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Henry took off down the lane. \u201cWait!\u201d Poppy cried, but he had already disappeared. She turned to see the disagreeable man\u2019s coat still visible a block away in the opposite direction.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd you needn\u2019t worry, Mr. Phillips.\u201d She gathered her basket and thread. \u201cYou won\u2019t see me or any member of my family in your shop again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She didn\u2019t listen to the man\u2019s sputtering reply, but broke into a jog to catch up with the disagreeable man.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease, sir!\u201d she said, reaching for his shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He quickly spun around and arched one of his severe brows with surprise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI want to apologize for being impolite to you in the shop,\u201d she said, catching her breath. \u201cI truly am having a bad day and vented my vexation on you. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d She noticed a flake of snow land on his collar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I, too, am experiencing a bad day. Though, I must admit, our little shouting match was rather cathartic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, it was.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He studied her face. The smile that graced his lips reminded her of a beautiful sunrise breaking over the land. In an instance, his disagreeable visage evaporated. He chuckled, a lovely musical sound that was infectious, and she found herself joining in his mirth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAllow me to pay you for the thread,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cPlease accept it as an apology for my rudeness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut I have nothing to give you for my rudeness.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou have a kind smile. That is enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her smile involuntary transformed to a mooning, girlish grin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n They stood, silent and smiling. She felt as light as the snowflakes that were growing more numerous by the second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo, why will your Christmas be miserable?\u201d he asked. \u201cOf course, don\u2019t feel obliged to answer my question.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2026 you see, my father wants me to marry, but\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou don\u2019t approve of the gentleman,\u201d he filled in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes. In truth, I\u2019ve never met him. He visits from London tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned quiet again, but something changed in his dark eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo why will your Christmas be miserable?\u201d she asked in turn, trying to keep the conversation going.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy reason is similar to yours. I came from London to meet a potential bride because I was in desperate straits to provide for my sisters and mother. But an investment paid off at the last minute, which has considerably reversed my fortunes. I have been troubling myself thinking of a way to politely beg off the pending engagement but…\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She drew an audible breath. The man before her was none other than the dreaded Lord Embroke, whom she was sure that she couldn\u2019t love or respect not an hour ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut perhaps I was hasty in my decision.\u201d A tender light glowed in his eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t\u2026 you shouldn\u2019t judge someone,\u201d she stammered, suddenly breathless. \u201cUntil you\u2019ve met him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo, you shouldn\u2019t,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Bells from the great cathedral in the city center began to ring out the hour. She was hopelessly late now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI-I should go home,\u201d she said reluctantly. \u201cMy mother is waiting for me. She will worry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMay I escort you, Miss Lancaster?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI would be delighted, Lord Embroke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She slowly wrapped her fingers around his offered elbow. They strolled, laughing at each other\u2019s conversation, to her home, which brimmed with wonderful holiday cheer. What she thought would be a miserable Christmas had turned into the merriest of her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cBy God, you will marry Lord Embroke!\u201d Poppy\u2019s father slammed his huge palm on the table holding the Christmas tree. Several of the embroidered ornaments fell from the branches. Poppy stifled the urge to flinch. Big Jim Lancaster was an intimidating man, both in stature and reputation. He towered over six feet and possessed massive … <\/p>\n